


One of Lucinda's scariest moments

by LadyBinx



Series: Lucinda Baker [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinx/pseuds/LadyBinx





	One of Lucinda's scariest moments

Let me tell you about the most terrifying experience of my life.

It was 1980. The aurors and the Order of the Phoenix had only just succeeded in repelling the Invasion of Britain, driving the giants back over the cliffs of Dover. Huge corpses could be seen all over the south east, even reaching as far as the outskirts of London. The Ministry of Magic was drafting in every employee that it could to try and cover it all up as quickly as possible, even accepting help from all sections. While their counterparts in France, Germany and several other European countries had also been harassed by Voldemort’s army of giants, no country had suffered so badly as Britain. It was a bitter victory, even though it signalled the turning point of the war – many wizards and witches had been killed, along with dozens of muggles. The cover-up operation that ensued was actually one of the busiest times in the whole, long history of the Ministry.

Of course, while the Death Eaters had been dismayed by the defeat of their gigantic minions, they were taking advantage of the chaos in the Ministry. Wherever he was, Voldemort wouldn’t let the Ministry or the Order catch their breath. He appeared to think he could catch them off guard as they reeled back, exhausted.

I had only left school a few years ago, and I was struggling to establish myself as a highly competent information exchange. I was collecting rumours and exploiting resources that almost nobody had any access to, from elves and goblins to ghosts and even high-placed muggle officials. I’d been very good at collecting valuable information in school, and since graduating I’d managed to make a living out of it. It wasn’t difficult for me to keep my head down during the conflict – I’d been in Slytherin, which is apparently reason enough to distrust anyone and keep me from being recruited into the Order of the Phoenix. Because both of my parents were muggles, I’d never been accepted by Slytherin though, so I stood no chance at ingratiating myself with the Death Eaters.

If you take a wrong turn down Diagon Alley, you’ll find yourself in Nocturn Alley. Both of these streets were fairly deserted in those dark days, and quite a few shops were nothing but burnt-out husks left behind by Death Eater attacks. I had salvaged a few artefacts from the home of a confirmed Death Eater before the Ministry had arrived to confiscate everything, and I was doing my best to sell one of the pieces that wouldn’t be too easily recognised or traced. It was a set of seven massive black candles made from human fat, with unicorn hair as the wick – dark magic, and I had to be careful. In those days, I only knew a few one reliable merchant for this kind of thing. A man named Wallace Walthamstow, of Walthamstow & Co. The ‘Co’ was only there to lend him prestige. He was the sole owner and operator of his curio shop.

“The Ministry would have my head if they found out I was even thinking about buying them off you,” said the shopkeeper I was negotiating with, in the storage room at the back of his shop, away from prying eyes. He had hairy ears under a wild mop of white hair, and a thick nose with spectacles perched on top.

“You’d be a fool to let them go, though,” I said.

“I’d be a fool to buy them. You might be a damn Ministry spy,” he said, looking at me over his spectacles with narrowed eyes.

“Oh come on, Wally. You know me better than that,”

“Well, that I do,” he muttered, “And that alone is reason enough not to trust you.”

“I’m hurt,” I said with a slight smile, “Come on. You know how much you can sell these on for? They’re barely used! Times are tough. I’m sure you know a couple of people who’d love to buy them. They’d make a lovely gift to impress someone. Your boss, maybe.”

“I own this shop. I don’t have a boss,” he said with a loud, disgusting sniff. I suddenly felt cramped in this storage room, surrounded by plain cardboard boxes.

“Some people have a boss, though, don’t they,” I said darkly.

“Alright, I’ll give you seventy galleons for the set. But not a sickle more!” he said sternly.

“What, ten galleons a candle? I know a guy who’ll give me twice what you’re offering,” I said to the shop-keeper I was negotiating with.

“I doubt that,” he said, wiping his bulbous nose on his sleeve, “Otherwise, why haven’t you sold the set to him?”

“Do you want a hanky or something?” I asked. 

“No, cheers,” he sniffed again, wiping his filthy sleeves together to distribute the goo.

“I haven’t sold them yet because I want someone I can trust,” I said, “But if you’re offering seventy then I suppose trust is a luxury I can’t afford, eh?”

“Alright, eighty then. But like you said, times are tough.”

“Eighty? I’m trying to make a living here,” I said.

“I know about your kind, your drinking and debauchery. Maybe if you started living right, you wouldn’t need so much money,” he grumbled.

“My kind?”

“Yeah. Your parentage. You muggle-borns and your hedonism,” he said, looking me square in the eye.

“You remember what it’s like to be young,” I said, refusing to rise to his petty tactics.

“What about ninety?”

“I’m not some tourist, here. I know you can do better than that.”

“Fine. Ninety-five. But you’ve got to meet me halfway here,” he said angrily.

“I’ll take a hundred and thirty five.”

“Good grief, negotiating with you is like negotiating with a damn stone! I don’t know why I put up with you! I should sell you out to the damn Dark Lord!” he snapped.

“Oh, you’d be in so much trouble for saying that, if I was anyone else,” I said, “The Ministry would snap you up like a fat man scoffing the last biscuit in the world. And the Death Eaters would hate to hear you damn his title, eh?”

“I can’t go higher than a hundred,” he said, his face turning red slowly.

“Yeah you can. I suspect you can even go up to a hundred and thirty,” I said with a grin.

“Damn it! Why don’t you just take it and sell it to your untrustworthy friend, then!” he snapped.

“Now, Wally, calm down,” I said, raising my hands in a conciliatory gesture, “How often are you going to get this chance? Honestly, I think a hundred and thirty is a fair price.”

“Fair! Fair! What the hell would you know about fair?”

“Wally, please keep your voice down,” I said in a reasonable tone.

“A hundred and ten. Nothing more.”

“Twenty-five,” I said.

“Fucking hell,” he said angrily, even stamping his foot on the floor, “You can’t possibly expect me to pay that!”

“I’ll take a hundred and twenty, if you really feel that strongly about it,” I sighed, “But it’s only because I know they’ll be going to a good home. Depending on how you define good, obviously, eh?”

“A hundred and twenty then,” he muttered, sagging as his rage turned into defeat.

I left the disturbing candles with him in exchange for a pleasing amount of money in a bulging purse that I thrust deep into my handbag. As I said goodbye to the old, disgusting man, I wondered when I would finally think it was worth turning Wallace Walthamstow into the Ministry. Possessing the kind of dark magic I’d just sold him would be worth a decent amount to the aurors, but as always I decided to wait until I sold him something darker, more valuable. The day would come, though, either way – I wasn’t about to ignore the racist comments he kept making.

It was like the little shop-bell was jangling in celebration as I stepped onto the cobblestone street, the cold autumn afternoon wind whipping at my long, dark trench coat and wide-brimmed hat. It even caught my long, silver earrings. I kept my sunglasses on, even though it wasn’t bright – I was reluctant to be seen in the nefarious place. Which is why when someone started trying to attract my attention from one of the dark alleyways between the shops, I tried to ignore them. But they were making hissing, ‘psst’ noises that were obvious to anyone within a dozen feet, so I hurried over to silence the mysterious figure crouched in the darkness.

“Lucinda Baker?” the tiny, humanoid figure asked. His voice was croaky and weak.

“Who’s asking?” I said, looking over my shoulder constantly.

“My master wants to meet with you tonight.”

“And who’s your master?” I asked, peering into the deep shadows where the figure was cringing.

“Master Black, of the noble Black family,” the shadowy creature hissed, apparently in some pain.

“So, you’d be the elf, I suppose? Kreacher?” I asked him.

“He says to meet you at the Shrieking Shack, just outside of Hogsmeade. He says you’ll know where it is,” said the elf in a sickly whisper.

“When?”

“At midnight,” the elf said, and disappeared with a loud noise.

I practically skipped around for the rest of the afternoon. I had been at school with the Black brothers. While Regulus had been in my house and indeed my year, I had been much, much closer to Sirius. Regulus had been one of the typical Slytherin bunch, to which I could not nor would not belong. Sirius had been very kind to me in my first year, and I’d tolerated the increasingly focused bullying with the strength that I gained from spying on him from afar. As we both grew older, we’d spoken more and more. I was the girl who told James, Sirius, Remus and Peter about the secret tunnels that I’d learned from the elves in the kitchens and laundry rooms, that they later formed into a collection called the Marauder’s Map. Sirius and I had taken each other’s virginity in the Shrieking Shack. I’d grown tired with his inability to stand up to his parents, and broken up with him – I was young and foolish. Shortly afterwards he’d apparently done exactly that. He had confronted his bigoted parents in one big argument and moved out of his familial home, living with Potter until an uncle left him some money in a will. There had been other boys for me since, and if rumour was to believed then he’d had a long list of girlfriends like the ultimate bachelor, but I still felt very strong affection for him.

Of course, there was the question of why Sirius would choose to meet me at the shack at midnight, but I was still young, and still fairly foolish. I hardly thought about whether it could be a trap. I changed my underwear before I went out to meet him, putting on much sexier, more alluring lingerie, just in case something would happen between us. I also took a red scarf, for the cold. I couldn’t keep my sunglasses, of course, but I pulled the scarf up around my face. And then I apparated out to Hogsmeade, and started trudging up to the shack, through the silent village in the cold night beneath the light of the full moon. I remembered how, once the boys had found out about the shack, Remus Lupin was kept there every full moon with the blessings of the school. I was smiling to myself as I looked up at the shack. To the untrained eye, there’s no way in or out of the rickety old building. To those who know, there’s the secret passage. But if you’re capable of using a wand, it’s not difficult to get inside without anyone being able to tell.

As eager as I was to see Sirius again, I was cautious as I was going in. The house was as creaky and unstable as ever. I had my wand out as I crept along the walls, listening closely for any sounds that might not be the building.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Baker? Lucinda Baker?” said someone from the next room, and a lit wand emerged from the doorway. I cast an expelliarmus charm as soon as I saw the hand holding it. Whosever voice that was, it wasn’t Sirius. The wand flew away from the flash of light, bouncing into the dark shadows of the shack. “I’m sorry!” the man said quickly, “Is that Lucinda Baker? I didn’t mean to surprise you!”

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“I’m Regulus! Regulus Black!”

“You sent your elf to come find me?”

“His name is Kreacher,” said Regulus, “I’m coming out!”

He emerged from the doorway, holding his arms out in surrender. Regulus was shorter than his brother, with close-cropped hair. He had large, goggling eyes, very unlike his much handsomer brother, but he had a similar nose and bone structure. He had a long trench coat, leather gloves and smart, shiny shoes beneath his pinstripe trousers.

“Hello again,” I said.

“Lucinda. How are you? Long time no see,” he said, his wide eyes glancing around anxiously, “Did you come alone?”

“I came alone, but people know I’m here,” I lied.

“How do I know it’s you?” he asked.

“What?”

“You might be someone else in disguise. Polyjuice potion, or a confundus charm. Or you could be you, but under the Imperius curse. I can’t trust anyone,” he said.

“I’m definitely me. We were in school together. You used to call me Loose Lucy, and things like that,” I said evenly, “You would wait until after class and then chase me down the corridors. You scared me into running and then chased me. I think it was the hunt that you enjoyed the most. Do you want to know how I always managed to escape?”

“Well, you’re a mudblood,” he said, like that explained all the bullying. I felt my muddy blood start to boil.

“What exactly do you want, Death Eater?” I said, my tone growing cold.

“Don’t call me that! I’m not one of them anymore!” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to leave. I want to defect,” he said quietly, glancing around with paranoia again.

“Why talk to me?” I asked.

“Because I can’t go straight to the Ministry. And I can’t go to the Order!” he muttered softly, striding to the windows and peering between the boards, “I know how vengeful they are.”

“You don’t want to be arrested, then,” I said, staying still, “You want to get out of the Death Eaters without consequence. You just want it all to go away, like it was a bad dream?” I asked sarcastically.

“Like a bad dream! Exactly!”

“Why now?” I asked.

“Because of what he did! Because of what he did to my elf!”

“What?”

“Kreacher was like... well, not a father. He’s just an elf after all,” said Regulus, running one hand over the other like a grooming mouse and striding across the room to stare wild-eyed out of another window, between the thick wooden planks. “But like an uncle. Or a guardian. He always took care of me when mother and father were away. And then he wants to borrow Kreacher, like he’s a broomstick or a book!”

“What are you talking about?”

“What he did to my elf!” he snapped angrily, striding across the room once more as it creaked noisily, the timber shifting in the cold night air, “He poisoned him! He could have killed him! He wanted to! But he was too strong. I’m very proud of him.” 

“So, you want to defect? Because someone did something bad to your elf? You know, you’ve been party to dozens of murders. Do you have any idea how many wizards died in the invasion of the giants? And how many muggles?”

“Yes, I know. I know there’ll be a price to pay. I know that. But this was Kreacher! And I never meant for anything to go this far! I only wanted to make my parents proud. He didn’t have to try to kill Kreacher!” he said, his quiet voice cracking with the stress.

“Who’s this he you keep talking about?” I asked with a dark suspicion.

“Kreacher?”

“No, the other one,” I said hesitantly. 

Regulus, turning his wide, staring eyes at me. “The Dark Lord,” he whispered.

“Alright, just calm down,” I said, and Regulus strode across the room once more and started staring out of the other window, “You can defect, or turn yourself in. But it’ll be easier for you if you have something of value. Do you know anything important? Do you know anything about his plans?”

“Oh yes,” Regulus laughed quietly, maniacally, his voice high-pitched and near-silent now, “I know all about his plans. I know what he intends. I know why he cannot be killed. I know why the Dark Lord will live forever!”

“What? How?”

“I’ll tell you when I’m safe from him,” Regulus said, bending down to pick up his wand.

“Hold it,” I said, pointing my wand back at him, “Leave the wand on the ground.”

“Please, you have to get me somewhere safe,” he said, striding towards me as I backed away.

“Stay where you are!” I shouted.

Regulus stopped, but he was staring out of the windows, suddenly itching at the arm that carried his wand. He was now so panicked that the veins were standing out on the side of his head. His head swirled around, and he was acting so quickly and erratically that I thought he might explode. He turned to me, trying to control his breathing.

“He’s here,” he whispered.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I assumed that he wasn’t talking about his elf, of course. Me and the Marauders of Gryffindor had played all over this house. I had explored the shack as thoroughly as Sirius and I had explored each other. I knew all the best hiding places – even Sirius himself had said so. If you ducked under the mantelpiece of the fireplace in the other room on the ground floor, there was a deep space on left. It was one of the many quirks of the building. There was even a shallow shelf, made out of the brick itself, that if you were determined you could use to help lift your feet off the floor. And then nobody would even know you were concealed, deep inside the chimney. I had the presence of mind to magically erase my footprints from the old soot covering everything, and kept my wand in my hand. I was just in time – the door of the shack flew inwards with the noise of splintering wood. I felt myself take a deep, shocked breath. Then I felt myself holding it as quiet, padding footsteps crossed the room.

“Regulus,” said a soft voice, with a breath of satisfaction. It was him, The Dark Lord Voldemort.

“My lord. It is an honour,” said Regulus, and from the sound of it he was doing very well to control his quivering, shaking voice. But not well enough.

“What are you doing here, Regulus?”

“I was meeting with an informant, my lord.”

“So close to Hogwarts?” said the second voice, with a cold, quiet inquisitiveness.

“It was nothing,” he said, “A waste of my time.”

“And therefore a waste of mine. I do not appreciate that. I was informed that you were most upset about your… elf,” said Voldemort with distaste, “I trust his death will not inconvenience your family? I understand that you’re quite fond of them.”

“Anything for you, my lord,” Regulus said. He sounded much calmer now. I slowly allowed myself to breathe out, careful not to disturb any of the dust or soot.

“Precisely, Regulus. Precisely. I was concerned, however, that your loyalty might have wavered,” said Voldemort, and I heard his soft footfalls approaching the fireplace.

“It has never been stronger, my lord. I would face death for you, my lord.”

“Or indeed, eat it,” said Voldemort. It sounded like his voice was on the other side of the wall. Glancing down, I caught sight of a pair of naked feet sticking out from beneath a dark robe. The nails were long, yellow-grey. The skin was clammy, and white as snow. It was only a glimpse – the robe swirled over them like a dark wave, swallowing them into a mass of black fabric. Regulus was saying nothing, and I breathed once more, as carefully as possible. I didn’t want to, when the enemy of all wizard-kind was barely a meter away from me, but I had no choice. A small particle of soot drifted down from the wall. As it moved, I saw other particles join it, slowly drifting downwards through the air. More and more of them joined in, until by the time it reached the bottom edge of the shelf on which I rested it was a cloud. The cloud drifted down to land in the fireplace, and to my terrified ears it sounded like an avalanche cascading down a mountainside.

“It is a dangerous night,” Voldemort continued absently. It seemed like nobody had heard anything. I was determined not to breathe again, ever. “The moon is full, and my wolves are on the prowl in the darkness. What happened to your informant?”

“He hasn’t shown up, my lord,” Regulus said.

“I do hope my wolves haven’t had him for a snack. What was his name?” said Voldemort, very precisely.

“He didn’t tell me,” said Regulus, “It was all arranged via letters, my lord.”

“This is an interesting building, nonetheless. I wonder if it’s far enough away.”

“From what, my lord, if I may ask?”

At that moment, a deep, booming voice shook the walls like there was an earthquake. Dust was shaken from everything. The shack creaked and groaned violently, the few remaining windows clattering in their frames.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle!” it said, each syllable like a thunderclap.

“From him!” snapped Voldemort, and as the shaking died away I heard his soft footsteps pacing quickly back to the doorway.

“You dare to return? At this time?” said the booming voice once more, and I felt the bricks beneath me shift as the shack twisted more and more violently at the noise. There was soot and dust everywhere, and while my ears were still ringing from the voice and my eyes were stinging from the clouds thrown up by it, I felt my grip shift on the shelf. I don’t weigh much, but the terror and adrenaline suddenly failed me as my body no longer held my weight. I tumbled from the fireplace painfully, landing on my front. I was holding my wand over my head immediately, coughing as I tried to blink the tears out of my eyes.

The shack was deserted once more, with nothing but sooty footprints to prove that Voldemort had even been here. There were some bright flashes of light, far away in the sky like distant lightning. I got to my feet, dusting myself down. I peered through the window planks, watching the far away battle. It was impossible to make out any specific details, but it seemed like it was growing further away slowly. I didn’t want to venture out of the shack until it was completely gone – who knew how many dark creatures might still be lurking out there. But rather than the howl of a lone wolf or the long, terrifying rasps of a dementor, I heard the deep, echoing thrum of an engine slowly approaching. I retreated back to the fireplace, but the engine arrived as I was ducking back inside. I heard footsteps crunching across the broken wood as I pulled my feet up, but I was too slow. A stupefying spell caught my ankle, paralysing my body.

I fell, tumbling awkwardly once more into the fireplace. A rough boot was placed on my arm, and I was rolled out of the fireplace like a log. A wand-light shone in my face, and although I couldn’t move I was staring at it like it was the last light I would ever see. For several long seconds, I thought it was.

“Lucinda?” asked a familiar voice. The wand-light moved aside and I found myself staring up at a pair of familiar brown eyes. I found myself being unfrozen, and someone was holding my hand. I was hauled onto my feet quickly, and I steadied myself.

“Sirius! Phew! I thought you were one of them,” I said, striding once more to the window to peer out at the distant lights, now nearly disappeared behind the horizon.

“And what are you doing here?” he asked. I paused, and turned to look at him. He was looking me up and down uncertainly, and he still had his wand in his hand. I took a step towards him, but he stepped away, staying between me and the broken doorway.

“What are you suggesting?”

“You know about the secret passage into Hogwarts grounds. He was just here. The Nameless One.”

“That was a coincidence. I was meeting your brother, Regulus. He asked to meet me here. Does he know about the secret passage? Does he know anything about why Remus used to use this shack?”

“No, nothing. I never told him about this place. Did you?” I asked, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“He wanted to defect. He wants to tell us something, and it sounded important.”

“Us? You never wanted to be in the Order,” he said, “Now I see why, obviously.”

“Why are you saying this? You trust me,” I said.

“I trusted you. I hear you’ve been doing a lot of things. Dark, suspicious things.”

“And that makes me one of them?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?”

He had grown since graduating, or maybe he was just standing taller now. He wasn’t living with his pureblood-obsessed parents, and he looked very, very angry. His hair was long and curly as always, and it looked like he was growing a beard. He was wearing a leather jacket with badges across the collar and shoulders, and denim jeans tucked into thick leather boots.

“I’m not a Death Eater. You know both my parents are muggles. Why would I join up with them?”

“Greater reward,” Sirius snapped, anger in his eyes.

“The bastards could have killed me while I was in school. I’m not an idiot, Sirius,” I said coldly. This made him hesitate before he said anything else, and I peered out of the window once more. There was now no light outside but the full moon.

“So, you met Vol… you met He Who Must Not Be Named?” asked Sirius with a sigh.

“No. I hid. In the fireplace. Remember that? It took all of you ages to find me. Peter wanted to just give up and go back to the school,” I said.

“Were you scared?”

“I was terrified,” I said, trying to hold back tears of relief. His arms were immediately around me, holding me close in a tight hug, and I relaxed into his familiar embrace with a deep, shuddering breath. The hug lasted a long time, but not long enough.

“I think you need a drink,” he said.

“Yeah. But not Hogsmeade,” I said into his shoulder, muffled.

“I know a muggle pub nearby,” he said, apparently reading my mind – I didn’t want to be around any wizards that I couldn’t trust, especially not when Voldemort had been so close.

He took me there on the back of his flying motorbike. I had to magically stick my wide hat to my head before we took off, and pull my red scarf around my face once more. I clung to his chest, laying my head against his back against the cold wind whipping at my hair. His leather jacket felt surprisingly warm in the night air, and the engine vibrating between my legs did a lot to take my mind off how close to death I might have been tonight. Of course, it did nothing to take my mind off the many intimate times that Sirius and I had shared long nights in that shack. By the time we landed near the pub, I was squeezing his hips with my thighs and hoping that the engine would never be turned off. He pulled off his helmet, shaking out his long hair, and turned to grin at me. But neither of us said anything until we entered the pub, in the middle of nowhere on a long stretch of country road.

The muggle pub stank of stale beer and old cigarettes. Smoke was floating around us as we walked in, and everyone paused to look at us. Everyone here was a grim, dour-looking old Scottish man. All of them were sitting, with thick overcoats, trousers hitched up past their ankles and caps on their heads – or standing at the dart board with their coats slung over the back of one of the benches. The drink of choice seemed to be Guiness, or foul-coloured ales. Sirius ignored their stares, striding to the bar and ordering two pints of beer. We took a table in a dark corner, and the other patrons soon forgot about us as I told Sirius about what Regulus had told me, and what I’d overheard Voldemort discussing.

“Well, we’ve known for years that he was using werewolves. Apart from that, I don’t think there’s anything you learned of any value,” he sighed, stroking his stubbly beard with an air of such maturity that I couldn’t help but grin.

“What about your brother?” I asked.

“From the sound of it, he’s pretty scared. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t just making it all up, the lying little rag,” Sirius said bitterly.

“He sounded very sincere. Especially about Kreacher.”

“It’s creepy the way he’s so affectionate about that old elf.”

“I think it’s worth your time to try and contact him further. He said something about how the Dark Lord will live forever, or something. He was very confused, and scared.”

“Bloody hell, can you imagine if that was true? I don’t even want to think about it,” said Sirius, gulping from his pint.

“Exactly,” I said, “We should investigate.”

At that moment, one of the old men put some money in the shiny, glowing neon juke box at the side of the bar, and selected something. The old men all grumbled noisily as he put on – I could tell that it was an unpopular recent addition to the pub, but obviously the men would try it out occaisionally.

“That’s Blondie,” said Sirius, “The song is called Call Me.”

“Still following muggle culture, then?” I said with a slight smile.

“The girl I’m seeing at the moment is a muggle, which makes it easier,” Sirius said, and the smile vanished from my face. “Oh, don’t look like that. Even if I was single, it would still probably be a bad idea to pick up from where we left off. I’m the traitorous brother of a pureblood family, working for the enemy, diluting my bloodline, betraying my heritage, and all that other bollocks. I’m a pretty big target for the Death Eaters,” he said, leaning back and putting one arm over the back of his chair.

“You’re so proud of it,” I said.

“Better than being ashamed of it,” he replied, and my smile returned.

“I worry about you, you know.”

“Why?”

“I know you’re not a bad wizard, but you take such risks. You get off on the danger, I think,” I said, leaning forwards.

“None of that,” he said, leaning forwards too with a grin, “I’m quite happy with this new girl.”

“Why can’t you be more like Peter?” I joked.

“What, Wormtail? Are you saying you fancy him more than me?” he said, and looked so affronted that I had to laugh.

“No, it’s just that he’s less of a target, obviously. He’s less talented, and almost nobody even notices him when the four of you are together. How’s James and Lily by the way?”

“They’re both fine. The recent, proud parents of a bouncing baby boy,” he said with a proud smile.

“I heard you were the godfather,” I said.

“There’ll be no saving the boy now, eh?” Sirius said with a wink. I giggled.

Someone put a different song on the jukebox.

“I’d like to visit sometime,” I said, “They were always such a nice couple.”

Sirius’s smile faded away, and he shook his head. He leaned back again, looking out over the pub. He stared at the muggles playing darts for a little while, and then sat forwards again, a very serious look on his face.

“If it was up to just me, then I’d be fine with it. But they’re in hiding, as you know.”

“Nobody knows why, though,” I said, “No one that I’ve spoken to, anyway.”

“I can’t tell you anything about it,” he said.

“Why not?”

“It’s a dangerous secret. One that threatens them, and their son. So, when I say I can’t tell you, please don’t keep asking, okay? I know what you’re like for secrets,” he said, looking down into his pint almost shamefacedly as he took another deep draught. Someone put a third song on the jukebox –it seemed that the old men were growing accustomed to the background music, although there was still some sour faces at the song choice.

“Alright, fine,” I said sulkily. I sipped at mine, “So what song is this, anyway?”

“David Bowie. Ashes to Ashes,” Sirius said.

The conversation floundered after that. I was worrying about why he didn’t trust me – and indeed whether he was right not to trust me – while he was probably feeling guilty about being unable to confide in me. The gulf between us grew wider and wider, until we were only discussing the war. We finished our drinks quickly. Sirius said that he’d been seeing Hagrid at Hogwarts, sharing a quiet night talking about motorbikes, until Dumbledore had told him and a few other Order members about Voldemort’s closeness to the school. Dumbledore had instructed Sirius to inspect the shack, being the closest Order member who was most familiar with the layout, for anything that might have been left behind. He’d return there now, he said, and check in with everyone. He offered me a lift, but I declined. I told him I’d be safe apparating home on my own. The David Bowie song was just coming to an end as we walked out of the pub and I watched him drive away on his motorbike. He didn’t wait until he was out of sight before it took off, and I grinned again at his impetuousness.

I didn’t see him again after that until many, many long years later. I had plenty of time, in between when I last saw young Sirius and that dreadful day when he was framed for the murder of so many muggles, after James and Lily were murdered and the war ended. But things were so hectic in those dangerous, dark days, and Sirius was so busy with the Order. I wish now that I’d made more use of his time as a free man. When he was imprisoned, I kicked up a massive fuss, telling anyone who would listen that he was innocent, that he’d never do something like that. But it was no good. I even tried to find the muggle woman he’d been talking about, but he’d kept her identity secret. Ultimately, there was nothing I could do.

I wish now that I had been more firm about Regulus, because nobody ever saw him again after that night. Sometimes it haunts me, the thought of what might have happened if Regulus had been able to tell us all about the Horcruxes. The lives that could have been saved in the first war, let alone the years of subversion while Voldemort lurked in the shadows around the world, and not to mention the second, much more terrible wizard war. I also regret mentioning to Sirius how damn Peter Pettigrew was less of a target than him. I wonder what might have happened if I hadn’t made that one little comment – how everything might have gone differently. But I’m usually quite busy with my information hoarding and knowledge exchange. I don’t think these things too often, and even less as time goes by. Over the years I’ve picked apart every aspect of both wars to examine how differently things might have gone. These are old wars, now. And their heroes and villains are old legends.


End file.
